Whispers of the Wind's Regret

The wind carried the soft melody, devoid of any song, down the corridor. On the windowsill, behind an intricate family painting, was a vase of sunflowers. Looking out the window, one could see the same flowers in the meadows behind a tiny cottage. The scene was serene, calm, and peaceful, as was the elderly woman in a cosy chair gazing out of the window. A cat lay curled up in her lap, purring softly at every stroke of her hand. The clouds hadn’t blocked out the sun since the early hours of the morning, and the woman enjoyed the soft strokes of sunlight on her face. The wind brushed against her house, making just enough noise to overpower the faint strains of the piano.

She was expecting company. By what some would call ‘fate’, a handwritten, crumpled letter had carelessly flown onto her doorstep over two full moons ago. Upon discovering the letter’s fortunate arrival, its owner had declared his intention to meet with her. To retrieve the letter, he had said, which he had assured her should never have reached her eyes. She was no fool, however, and was well aware of the reason for his visit.

Any moment now, the lemon cake would finish baking, the tea would be set, and she would hear the soft ring of her doorbell. Her hand stroked the smooth ball of fur on her lap, eliciting another contented purr and a roll onto its back. The cat pressed her belly against the loving hand and closed her eyes. Time seemed to slow down, or perhaps not pass at all, as the melody drifted through the cottage and the woman waited for her company.

Instead of the soft ringing of a bell, there was a faint knocking. Her company had arrived. The orange tabby jumped up from her lap and stretched out, paws tiptoeing along the wooden floor as she walked towards the door. Slowly it began to stand, its eyes growing larger and its legs straightening. With only her cat ears and tail remaining, the ball of fur transformed into a young human girl. She reached for the doorknob and opened it, allowing the stranger to enter her mistress’s home.

A bewildered young man entered the small cottage, and though he obviously noticed the ears and tail, he made no comment. The young girl could almost smell his anxiety, which did not surprise her at all. She didn’t say anything either, leaving her mistress and the young man alone as she walked towards the kitchen.

“Please, come sit down,” the older woman said. A gesture of her hand did not stop the lovely sounds, but lowered their volume. In between her elderly fingers, wrinkled of age, laid the crumpled letter. The young man’s eyes traced the paper and his hand twitched slightly, as if it remembered the act of writing on the parchment. Though hundreds of years had passed, he would never forget the exact words on those pages. It had been the beginning of his misery - and the end of all he had loved.

He moved over to the woman and took a seat in the comfortable armchair next to her, exhaling deeply. “You must be Mrs Pea,” his voice cracked slightly, though he was met with a reassuring smile from the woman.

“Indeed I am,” she replied, “and what is your name, young man?”

He swallowed hard, “They call me many names,” he began, and just as he was about to continue, the young girl returned with a wooden tray containing two small plates of freshly baked lemon cake and two cups of fruity tea. The scent filled the room with a pleasant, soothing air, but not enough to calm his nerves. The tray was placed neatly on the table between the two of them before the girl cocked her head to the side and took a good look at him, “What’s your favourite?” She questioned, her voice laced with curiosity combined with an innate politeness. He was not surprised that she had heard him all the way from the kitchen; her cat ears must have given her exceptional hearing.

“My favourite?” He breathed, unable to remember the last time anyone had cared what he thought. It was probably around the time he had written this letter that his opinion had last been valued. He knew the answer, though, as he had always known it.

“Widite. Call me Widite.”

The young girl smiled, wiped some of the invisible dust from her summer dress, and changed back into the orange-haired cat she had been. With a nimble leap, she made her way back to her mistress, who scratched the affectionate feline behind her ear.

“And what can I do for you, Mr Widite?” The elderly woman asked, turning her attention back to the man. She took a sip of tea, a hint of steam still rising from her cup. “It is not every day that a man of your stature knocks on my door.”

No, he did not think it was common at all. After all, there were only a handful of reasons why someone like him would ever visit Mrs Pea. Despite her considerable amount of years on this earthly realm, she had always been one of the stronger spirits in this earthly realm; one known for her ability to… mend.

“I would like you to cure me,” he admits, pain etched into his face. His wounds were not visible to the eye, but rather buried deep within what humans would call ‘his heart’, if he had one.

“Cure you of what, boy?”

It was an interesting game the woman was playing. She was well aware of his ailments, as well as the fact that he could in no way be described as a ‘boy’. And yet she played along, ignorant of the same letter she continued to hold in her hands.

“Of my…” He had travelled for weeks to finally reach his destination, absolutely certain that this was the best decision for his well-being, and yet… He hesitated. “Of my memories… of all that I am. I have to start again.”

The woman gave him a sad smile and put her cup back on the tray. Her hand trembled only for a second as she opened the letter and began to read.

“On a vast and empty ocean, where echoes linger still,

You wander alone, uneasy, in silence, time to fill.

Some days are heavy, burdened by the weight,

Can’t even breathe, it’s a struggle, it’s our fate.

Buried with our past, soon it will be gone,

Like the lonely memories, under the setting sun.

Even if the truth may vary, this ship will find the shore,

Carrying your soul, safe forevermore.

An old voice in my head, a haunting melody,

It holds me back, yearning for truths as remedy.

Hold my hand, my dear, through dark storms we’ll tread.

As sleep eludes you, the wind whispers, ‘Rest your head.’

Don’t listen to the lies they say,

The cries, they echo, haunting, in disarray.

Yet, the truth may vary, like waves upon the shore,

This ship will carry you to safety, love forevermore.”

All breath was gone from him. His centuries-old words, so carefully put to paper, laid out in the open, and all he wanted to do was gather them up in a giant butterfly net and force them back. He’d made so many vows to her - promised her he’d keep her safe. That he would guide her ship home, to safety, forevermore.

And he had failed.

The God of the Wind had failed to protect her.

Oblivious to his own pain, a tear escaped and slid down his cheek. He had known that a God could not fall in love with a mortal, but after meeting the witty, charming pirate captain lost in the middle of the ocean, his heart had been stolen before he had even realised it. He had sworn to her that he would bring her to shore - to home - and he had not. She had been lost to the cruelty and cold of the ocean.

“I failed,” he whispered, his heart tearing with each word. “I have failed, and I cannot right my wrong.”

Even the cat on the woman’s lap stopped purring and turned its head to face the young man. His pain was a palpable, physical layer on his shoulders, like a thick winter blanket of regret and self-disappointment.

“Mr Widite,” Mrs Pea began, “I am afraid I cannot grant your request.”

The man’s last shred of hope faded into darkness, his shoulders slumped and a great wave of exhaustion washed over him. For weeks, he had felt like he was barely keeping afloat, but now… Now he was drowning, deep in the unforgiving ocean, right next to the one he still loved.

He stood up, his legs wavering and unstable as he nodded. “I thank you for your time-”

“However,” the woman cut him off, “I would like to offer you something else instead. An opportunity.”

Try as he might to suppress the new feelings of hope, he failed miserably. “And what would that be?”

Mrs Pea took a deep breath, knowing she was about to begin not just a new chapter - but a whole new book. “I’m going to give you a new start. A chance to go back in time and fix what ails you; a chance to save her. On one condition.”

His eyes widened, his pulse quickened, and his subconscious had made this woman his new saviour. She should have been a God, not him. “Anything,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

“You must forfeit your godhood, Mr Widite, and walk this earthly realm as a mere mortal,” she paused, looking him straight in the eye, “You have until the day the ship reaches the shore to make her love you again. And if she does not…”

He understood her trailing sentence. If he failed to make her love him back, there would be nothing left of him. He would never be able to return to the heavens, were he to fail his quest. Instead, he would turn to dust and be swept away by the very wind he once commanded.

Despite her warning, he had already made up his mind. Perhaps this would lead to tragedy, his decision punished, his love taken from him, and everything that made him who he was gone with the wind.

But if he could see her smile, drown into her beautiful eyes, and hold her once more, he would gladly give up his whole being.

And so the world lost a God, and gained another loving fool.

A fool with the determination to write another letter, one that would never be regretted.

One with a happily ever after.